AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a semi sequel to Nimrod. While Nimrod is unnecessary to read to understand what happens in this fic, there are AU elements as a result of Nimrod. Apologies for the confusion.
"I need to pee," Annette told Danny. "Can you hold my bag?"
"Sure," he said absentmindedly. He slung her handbag over his shoulder and gave her a kiss. She walked into a small restaurant, close to him. He looked at her through the window, watching her walk by the tables, momentarily obscured by the words HOBBS'S BREWERY AND GRILL before she walked up the stairs and out of sight.
He turned to the parade. Pick-up trucks dragged large floats behind them, each bearing a scene recreating a different event in Brockton Bay's history. The peace treaty with the natives floated by him, second graders dancing to faux Native American music on top of it. The one after that had fourth graders in blankets taking an incredibly convincing nap. He didn't quite remember what historical event that was commemorating.
He heard a scream. He looked in its direction, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. More voices joined in, starting to scream, and a wave of people in the crowd started to push and shove away from something. A booming voice shouted something. Then he saw it.
The source of the mayhem was a man clad in full plate armor, a full white beard coming out of the bottom of his helmet. He held a staff made of steel, and lifted it up high. Blades sprouted from it and flew into the crowd after detaching.
Allfather.
People pushed past each other in a blind panic. Danny froze. Annette was still in the bathroom of Hobbs's. He ran towards the entrance, and a six foot long metal pole lodged itself into a food stand, blocking his way. Another one followed.
"Come out, Marquis!" Allfather roared. "Face me like a man."
"Shit. Fuck. Crap. Shit," Danny muttered, almost a litany. He ducked under the pole, and ran into another pole. It had not been there when he looked before. If he had been a little bit faster, it would have impaled him. He looked towards Allfather, and saw another blade headed his way. Time slowed down as a man jumped in front of it. It hit him and burst in a flash of lightning.
When the spots in Danny's vision cleared, the man was unharmed. The man was large, and the scars on his bald head and thick arms were visible at even a cursory glance. He wore actual leather armor, and had a sword strapped to his back. He looked like one of the heroes from the books Danny used to read as a kid – He'd fit in well with Conan or Kull.
"Get behind the car," he said, pointing to a truck attached to a float. The driver had run off. "It's not gonna get you there."
"My wife," Danny said. "She's in there."
The windows of Hobb's were broken. A woman was affixed to the wall with a spear. Not Annette, Danny thought, mixed shame and relief at the thought flowing through him.
"What's she look like?" the man asked. Danny pulled out his wallet and showed the man the picture of them at Notre Dame. Another pole flew by them, missing the man by a hair. He didn't flinch, or even look towards the sound of screaming that followed it.
"Her name is Annette. I'm Danny," he said. The man's eyes were yellow and slitted, and staring holes into Danny's.
"Letho," the man responded. He made a gesture with his hand. Sparks burst out of it, covering him. He leaped through the poles embedded in the food cart, pirouetting through the air. "Run for cover, you idiot," he hissed at Danny, before running into the restaurant.
Danny ran, putting the truck between him and the advancing Allfather.
The next minute felt like an hour. He couldn't help but keep peeking through the smashed windows, looking through to see what was happening. Police were setting up barricades at a distance, and Allfather had stopped walking to throw blades in random directions. Danny ducked as a blade flew towards the window. It passed where his head had been.
With no mission in sight, no need to run anywhere, with only a need to stay where he was and death everywhere else, Danny collapsed onto the sidewalk. Sobs wracked his body, leaving him shuddering and shivering. His mind went blank, not even showing him images of what could have happened. Just a blank all-consuming, mind-numbing fear.
It felt like an eternity until Letho returned. The giant squatted over Danny's curled form. "She's safe, barricaded in the bathroom. You're not safe here. I'll bring you there."
Danny allowed himself to be lifted, cradled like a child. The indignity should anger him, he knew. All that came out was a mumbled tearful, "Thank you."
"No problem," came Letho's voice.
"How do I repay you?" Danny found himself saying. "Why are you helping me?"
When no answer came, he looked at Letho's face. The man was, for the first time, smiling.
Sixteen years later
It was a bit of a tumble into the stream. The knives clacked against my chest before I landed flat on my back, my scabbard wedged into my spine. I shrugged, testing the pain. Nothing was broken. Some slight bruising, I thought. Nausea, but barely any of it.
Still, I felt like I needed to speak with Fringilla about this. Berate her. Admonish her. If I was feeling particularly brave, maybe even upbraid her.
I pushed myself to my feet, and dusted myself off. Soaked as I was, it was a meaningless gesture. I evaluated what I had. The leather vest and chain armor were fine, but wet. As was the undershirt and pants. The bombs on their bandolier were all perfectly in place and intact, as were the two knives. The scabbard was caked with mud, but fine. My hood was askew, the cloth mask covering the bottom half of my face pulled away.
I allowed myself to take in my surroundings.
I had been dropped into small stream flowing down a hill, on a relatively straight incline towards the city, which wasn't too far away, a shining beacon in the night. The woods were almost entirely pine trees, the ground covered in cones and needles. There were a few small shrubs, but most had been choked out by the pines. I heard more than I saw the wildlife scurrying – snakes, lizards, and farther away I could hear what sounded like a boar and her piglets, snuffling through the soil. A murder of crows flew up ahead, disturbed by a loud noise. I had to rack my mind slightly to remember that it was the sound of an engine. I could faintly make out the music the driver – and I didn't need to see him to know it was a he – was listening to, but I couldn't recognize it. It had been a while.
The smell of the pines and the soil wasn't enough to choke out the smells coming in from the distance. Oil, smog, rot, and a slight whiff of the sea.
Brockton Bay. Earth Bet. Home.
"Home," I said to the air. The word tasted funny. Home was in Skellige. Tor Gvalch'ca. Brockton Bay was a series of memories I barely clung onto. My mother singing. My father running his hand through his hair. Cookies baking.
Letho had taken that from me, and even now, so close to everything I'd lost, I still couldn't hate him for it. His goals, the mission... it was too important.
With that in mind, I headed towards the city.
I sat on a roof for a full twenty minutes before feeling comfortable enough to try isolating sounds. I'd let the sounds and feelings of the city at night wash over me. The sirens, the cars, the people, moving, talking, screaming, fighting, doing so much more... all of this above sounds others wouldn't hear. The hum of a generator, scribbling of rats, air conditioning units working, water dripping, so much noise it overwhelmed me.
But I managed to get it down. I sat, and listened to the city. I alternated my focus, listening in to words from different apartments in the area.
"I can't keep doing this, Scott." A woman, her voice half a sob.
"Are you sure you're tired?" A teenaged boy, his cracked voice carrying a note of arousal.
"We're out of milk." A different woman, curt.
"Are you okay?" A man, worry coloring his attempt at a soothing voice.
A whimper of fear, followed by, "Just give me your wallet."
An alley, near me. A man pushing a woman up against a wall. Her hand scrabbled inside her purse, rattling things, but she pulled nothing out.
I hesitated for only a brief second before jumping down to the building's fire escape, and from there two stories to the street.
Even after preparing myself for the landing, my knees buckled and I collapsed to the ground, my nose alarmingly close to the crud and detritus covering the sidewalk. The smell of half-burned cigarette butts was overpowering. I coughed as I stood up.
The man's attention had turned to me.
"What the fuck," he said. "You pulling something?"
"Leave her alone," I squeaked, out of breath. He turned his knife towards me. I thought about going for the knives in my vest, but instead held my hand out in the sign of Aard. A pulse of force blew out, knocking him against the wall. He slid, gasping for air.
I turned my attention to the woman. The blast had hit her with a glancing blow, and knocked her flat on her ass. I extended a hand out to her. "Sorry, misjudged the blast."
"Thank you," she said. "I... Thank you."
"You're welcome," I said. I wondered if there was a manual for interactions after saving someone from a robbery. The would-be robber was struggling to get up. I used the sign of Somne, and he stopped. "Maybe call the cops?"
"Sure," she said. "Right."
"No need," a voice said. I didn't hear him approach, I thought as I turned towards him. He was floating.
He wore a golden breastplate with a matching helmet with a red plume. His boots, shield, and spear looked like they were made of light. He slowly touched down on the ground, his landing almost soundless. Blue eyes and a light smile showed through the slit in his helmet.
"Hi, I'm Dauntless," he said, extending his hand for a shake. I shook it.
"I'm Gorgon," I said, almost saying Viper instead. His head tilted quizzically for a half second, before he shook it and continued.
"Is he in any danger?" he asked, gesturing towards the snoring form of the mugger.
"No. He's taking a nap. Do you have handcuffs or something?"
"No, but cops are on their way, and between the two of us he isn't getting away," he said. "I've got to ask you a few procedural things. I need to make clear that saying 'no' to any of them will not be held against you, but we prefer if you help."
"Sure," I said. "What is it?"
"Would you be willing to give a statement? Also, are you an active cape here?"
"Yes, and yes, but I started my official career tonight. Up until now I've only trained," I said.
"Oh? Where are you from originally?"
"Bay native, but I've been travelling all over."
"Mind sharing where?"
"Umm... can I have a picture with you two?" The woman said.
"Right!" The smile on Dauntless's face was slightly sheepish now. "Sorry, I just got into the questioning. Shouldn't have done that yet. Right. Is that okay with you, uh..."
"Gorgon."
"I would have remembered that in a second," he mock-complained.
"Sure thing," I said. I smiled under my mask.
She stood between us and held her phone out to take a picture. Dauntless held his arm a half an inch over her shoulder, while I stood with my fingers in a 'V', palm facing the camera. She took four pictures. I remembered just in time to slit my pupils, and allow the world to grow darker. People would focus on their strangeness, hopefully.
"Thank you," she told us, then, "Thank you," again, to me. "I've got to run home."
"Would you be willing to come in tomorrow and testify?" Dauntless asked her.
"Okay," she said. She looked through her purse, and pulled out a piece of paper. She wrote down Amanda and a number, then (Call me). She handed it to Dauntless, who folded it up and put it in his bracer. She jogged away.
Something in Dauntless hardened as she left. He paused for a few seconds, staring after her as she walked away, and turned the corner. He took a deep breath before turning to me. "Do you have any intention of joining the Protectorate?"
"No," I said. "I'm striking out on my own, for now."
"I need to warn you as to how things are, then."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I'm going to assume you know absolutely nothing. A week ago, a vigilante cape attacked the leader of Empire Eighty Eight while he was at work, in his civilian identity, as CEO of a company."
"Max Anders," I said. "I know. I did my research."
"Let me pretend you don't, so nothing gets missed. This is important. Hundreds of people died as collateral damage. As a result, there are two major outcries. The first is that the CEO of a large pharmaceuticals company was secretly a Nazi gang leader, and the second that a single vigilante caused so many deaths and the PRT was unable to prevent them."
"I have library access," I said. "The internet is everywhere."
"Can I finish this? The second is why I'm warning you right now. Legally, you have the right to make a citizen's arrest, to protect others, and to help out."
"And..."
"Practically, there's always been some leeway for independent heroes. Not enough of us, too many of them, you know? But right now... you set a toe over the line of legality, and we come down. Hard. We can't afford not to," he said.
"That's very open of you," I remarked.
"Honesty is important," he said. "Openness. I'm not going to deceive you, in the hopes that you're not going to try to deceive me."
"Okay," I said. "What do you want to know?"
"Where have you been operating?" He asked.
"I won't lie on this," I said, "But I can't tell the truth either. Sorry. I can assure you I have committed no crimes, and plan to commit none."
"Fair enough," he said. "What are your plans?"
"Establish myself as a heroic mercenary – Will do legal work for money. I'm an excellent tracker and detective, and I can handle myself in a fight."
"Okay... You do realize that's not going to be possible without a reputation? I think the only independent mercenary hero I know of is Mouse Protector. She was one of the original Wards and she still does children's birthday parties to make a living. I highly recommend you join the Protectorate if your skillset is that good."
"Can't join the Protectorate," I said. "Maybe Wards, but even then I'm saying 'no.' Can't be in a system if I want to achieve my goals."
"Wards?" he asked. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen," I said.
"Shit... Aren't you supposed to be in be- at home, or something?" The stern look had faded into concern.
"Don't have one," I responded. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine."
"Look... Come have a tour of the Wards HQ. Please. Let me introduce you to them, at least. Know what it is you're saying no to."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I'll give you this. Right now there are bounties on capturing Lung and Azrael. Considerably larger ones for Azrael. I'll bring them to the Wards headquarters, or as they're better known, the PRT's headquarters. I'll do it without collateral damage, and I'll do it legally. And then we'll talk, and see what arrangements we'll come to in the future."
"It's dangerous," he said. "I can't condone it. I wouldn't do it, and I'm the strongest cape in our Protectorate, barring maybe Armsmaster. Come in, please."
"No," I said. "Thank you. I'm going to go right now, if you've got the man over there in hand."
He pulled a business card out. DAUNTLESS. PROTECTORATE ENE. A number. "Take this, please. Call me if anything happens. We can't see another hero slip."
I put it in a pocket in my armor.
"Don't worry," I said. "I'll be fine."
After all, I had a plan.